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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25660573">Garden of Hope</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveandwarandmagick/pseuds/loveandwarandmagick'>loveandwarandmagick</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Excerpts From The Rooftop [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, POV Andrew Minyard, cass n' drake are only mentioned briefly, no tw's, the story that andrew was gonna tell neil</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:07:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,498</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25660573</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveandwarandmagick/pseuds/loveandwarandmagick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The story that Andrew tells Neil on the rooftop after their first kiss, a carefully written thing that reveals more of his fragmented pieces.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Excerpts From The Rooftop [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860598</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>144</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Garden of Hope</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi y'all ! this is a continuation to "of stars and stories" that i just started writing in a *frenzy* </p><p>i hope you guys enjoy it, thank you for reading</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Are you listening?” Andrew asks. For a moment, only the wind whistles in response, but then Neil hums somewhere behind him, an vague agreement to keep him talking. It’s unnerving for a second to be so close to the edge with someone behind him, but he shakes off the old fear and sinks into the ease of the moment. Bee would tell him to notice how safe he feels, and Neil would want him to feel safe, so he tries. </p><p>“If you fall asleep, I’m never telling you this story again.”  </p><p>Another hum, this time sounding more like a protest. Andrew looks back at Neil then, sprawled out on the floor with his eyes closed. Feeling Andrew’s gaze, he cracks them open, leaving Andrew breathless and unwilling to admit it. Neil’s sharp gaze is softened by the smile on his face, lips curving up soft and hidden from the rest of the world.</p><p>He’s lying anyway. Neil’s fallen asleep in the middle of a story before and Andrew just throws his jacket over him and curls up next to him. The next night, or the night after that, he repeats it anyway. He has each word memorized, sitting on the tip of his tongue to be changed or emphasized depending on Neil’s moods.</p><p>“Liar,” he accuses. Like he knows the way Andrew bends for him, even without showing resistance. He narrows his eyes at the thought, feeling something warm bloom in his chest unbidden.</p><p>And then Neil says, “Go, Andrew.”</p><p>So he does. If Neil falls asleep tonight, Andrew will be quietly thankful that he’s resting. And when Neil wakes up, Andrew will threaten to never tell him anything again, and Neil will smile disbelievingly with Andrew’s heart in his hands, whether he knows it or not. </p><p>“Once upon a time, there was an idiot-”</p><p>Neil huffs a sharp laugh, sitting up a bit to lean up on his palms. “That’s not how it starts.”</p><p>“Just checking to see if you’re listening,” Andrew mutters, and Neil hums as he lays back again. He lets his thoughts wander into the story, imagining the way it might look in a children’s book. His voice drops as he speaks, rolling smoothly in the quiet. </p><p>“On one morning, a boy was born. The boy’s mother had given him her garden, right before she left. So, he became a gardener. There were things he couldn’t understand - he was too young, you see. He couldn’t understand why his mother left, why she gave him a garden to be in charge of. She’d planted the seeds, but left him in charge of sowing them and pulling up flowers.”</p><p>When he pauses to glance at Neil, he finds him looking right back, eyes soft and overwhelming. For everything Andrew’s learned about him, the way he struggles to say things is the most interesting to him. Where Andrew says things directly, Neil talks the most with his face. Everything Andrew needs to know is there, shifting in the shadows under his eyes, emotions lining up in the set of his mouth. </p><p>He looks pleased, and a bit sad. The way he did with the star story. </p><p>“His life became a pile of questions. The flowers refused to grow for him, to ease the pain in his hands after he spent hours digging and watering for them. When they did grow, they were weeds with sharp thorns, and each time he tried to dig them from the soil, they clung on and hurt his hands worse.”</p><p>Neil makes a noise at that, and when Andrew turns, his hand is hovering over Andrew’s own. </p><p>“Can I?” He asks, and then adds, “Touch your hand?” when Andrew just stares at him. He nods, and Neil touches his knuckles gently, stroking and lingering on the dark bruises he earns from sparring with Renee. </p><p>“It’s a sad story,” Neil mumbles, not quite a question, but confirmation. Andrew nods again, and Neil’s hands still for a moment, before resuming their gentle adoring pattern. His eyes are fierce, a direct opposition to the soft movement of his hands. They’re both responses to his words, Andrew knows. A soothing touch to kill old ache and that sharpness in his eyes as a promise that it’ll never happen again. </p><p>Something in Andrew’s chest burns and collapses, convincing him to turn his back on the skyline, unable to help his shudder when the wind nudges his shoulders back a bit. He offers his hand between them, scooting forward until he can lay on the floor, head resting safely against the ledge. Forcing himself to breathe and stay still, to trust in Neil’s safety. </p><p>He only looks surprised for half a second before his face clears into something prideful. Andrew’s gaze drifts away, ignoring the way Neil’s expression lights something inside his chest on fire. Neil squeezes his fingers, so he clears his throat to keep talking. </p><p>“So, he stopped trying to make them grow. New seeds were planted instead, and none yielded flowers. Each time he tried, it only hurt more.”</p><p>He tilts his head to meet Neil’s eyes, finding solace in the wide expanse of blue there. His lips are turned down unhappily, but his expression is earnest and seeking honesty, blown open in a vulnerable way despite it being Andrew’s truth.</p><p>Andrew takes a breath before he starts again. Instead of pulling back with each truth he reveals,  he squeezes Neil’s careful fingers, twining them together loosely. <em> I’m here</em>, Neil says with his eyes. His whole body is shifted towards Andrew, curled in like a flame. </p><p>In these moments, he breathes and lets himself enjoy the peace of having something. Relearning his boundaries and readjusting them for Neil, to learn to hold and be held. And then they go to sleep in separate rooms and the moonlight washes over the night, convincing him that Neil is nothing more than a dream. </p><p>Thrill and terror sinks into his bones, but he’d burn the world down to keep the feeling close. To keep Neil here, giving as much as he can, taking only as much as Andrew will let him. </p><p>“One morning he woke up and found a flower sprouted up from beneath the soil. It was an abandoned seed that he hadn’t even noticed before, arriving seemingly from nowhere.” <em> Cass</em>, his mind supplies. Neil doesn’t know her name yet, but he knows the story well enough.</p><p>“For once, he didn’t try to pick it. Everyday, he expected it to disappear, like maybe he’d dreamt it. But it stayed, and sung softly to him at night so he could sleep. And it was good. It brought his garden smaller flowers, dandelions and ferns creeping close to the soil. He was happy with what he had, and eventually, he stopped waiting for the world to burn it down.”</p><p>Another pause to breathe, to clear the sudden tightness in his chest. Neil watches him, understanding and patient, feeling it as much as Andrew does. Another flower in the garden - resilient and stubborn despite the furious world trying to tear him up.  </p><p>“Suddenly, a weed sprouted up from the soil. Sunflower,” he mutters, recalling the broad build of his foster brother, overwhelming and suffocating every living thing in Andrew’s chest. Neil stiffens at the edge to Andrew’s voice, eyes closing for a second as he masters his breathing. Andrew knows by now that he needs time to settle, that he inherited his father’s burning anger and his mother’s terror. That when he gets angry, like he does when Andrew’s past comes up, he feels for the injustice of it all, for the heavy scars that Andrew carries.</p><p>When the memories come up, he thinks of Neil instead. A promise of a hopeful future, rather than the biting edge of the past. </p><p>“The sunflower was the favorite of the garden. But every time that the boy reached for his old flower, the sunflower drew back its petals. There were only thorns on the front, so that the old flower couldn’t see where they were pricking the boy.”</p><p>“Andrew,” Neil says quietly, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s stopped speaking, and his hands are a trembling vice around Neil’s. He withdraws with a curse, shaking out his wrist to stop the shaking. Neil watches him, cautious not to touch, so Andrew lays his hand out between them again, in an offer.</p><p><em> It’s hurting you </em> , he says, without speaking a single word, <em> And you have the choice to take my hand again, knowing that. To stay. </em></p><p>And Neil, the fiercest dream in all of Andrew’s wildest imagination, takes it anyway. The challenge shines clear in his eyes, honest. <em> I choose this anyway</em>, he says, without speaking a single word. The tension drains from Andrew’s body, pooling unimportant with his dulled memories.</p><p>“He cut down the sunflower, grabbing it hard to show his old flower that there were thorns, and blood, even if it hadn’t looked obvious at first. Overwhelmed with grief, the flower curled in on itself, and never sang again.”</p><p>Neil hums softly to show he’s listening, but Andrew can’t miss the double meaning of it, the new memory of a song to replace the old. He slides his fingers over the bump of Neil’s wrist, as gentle as he’s ever allowed himself. Only for a moment, he lowers the steel of his expression, letting some of the feeling pour over into his gaze. </p><p>And he can’t regret it when Neil matches him, step for step. His face is unreadable, even as he turns their hands over and drops a kiss on Andrew’s knuckles. He has to turn away before he starts talking again. </p><p>“Overcome with his own grief, the boy burned down his garden. The only things that survived were the rocks, and eventually, they broke down into soil. It was this moment that he realized they had been there all along. The thought gave him hope, and he decided to stop trying to grow flowers. The rocks held him up and warmed his hands in the cold; the soil coated his old wounds and healed the cuts.</p><p>“Spring came and went. Years passed, and the boy learned to stop digging for ash in the garden. He focused instead on the sky above him, the rain that bloomed more harmless weeds and moss growing over the rocks. They kept him company, even if they were less comforting than the flower.” </p><p>Neil’s eyes slipped closed, so Andrew stops to say, “It’s late.”</p><p>He shakes his head in response, but his eyes stay closed. After a moment, they open and fix on Andrew (albeit blearily). “Keep going, I’m still listening.”</p><p>Andrew huffs, but it’s not worth arguing over - and Neil is infinitely more stubborn. He’d sleep out on the roof just to spite him. </p><p>“One day, he packed up his garden of rocks and moss and hid it all inside his chest. He carried it around for years, all grown up now. And eventually, when he stumbled upon a rooftop at his new home, he unpacked it all on top. It was surrounded by barbed wire, and besides…” </p><p>Neil’s eyes crack open as Andrew’s voice fades off.</p><p>“No one comes on the roof anyway,” Andrew mutters after a hesitant moment, watching as the words fully register. </p><p>An unrestrained grin takes over Neil’s face, wild and full of mischief. Andrew’s heart drops at the sight, an unpleasant jolt in his chest that makes him feel sick and giddy at the same time, like he’s standing right on the edge of the roof. Neil lets go of his hand in favor of sitting up to lean in, halting just before he gets into Andrew’s space. </p><p>Andrew hates him for pausing at all, for knowing the boundary and never demanding more. He cares so much that it sets him on fire. </p><p>“Kiss me? Yes or no?” His voice is soft and eager, sweet in a way that reminds Andrew of the story he’s telling. He has to balance his rage at how undeserved it feels, to have Neil in this way. To have someone who’s seen it all and chooses to stay despite it. </p><p>A practice in restraint turns the rage to annoyance, as he identifies the feelings and lets them ebb away. Slowly, it becomes comfortable to breathe again. Slowly, slowly; it all disappears under the true feeling, the terrifying, real one underneath the initial rejection. Tentative, fearful happiness, already fluttering out of his reach to hide under the easier emotions.</p><p>Still. Calm is better than fearful, is better than the chasm between extreme emotions and blankness that he doesn’t dare to cross. </p><p>He grows aware that he’s been staring for far too long without responding, and can see the ready-to-retreat lines of Neil’s body, so he eases forward to capture his mouth. He tries his hardest not to get distracted by the soft sigh that Neil lets out against his lips when he pulls away, or the way his hands stay firmly planted in Andrew’s hair when he’s allowed. </p><p>“Are you going to let me finish?” he asks dryly, and Neil’s laugh gets caught in the space between their lips.</p><p>“Go, go,” he mumbles, leaning back on the floor with an arm under his head. He leaves the other hand outstretched for Andrew to take, so he settles for brushing his knuckles along the scars on Neil’s hand. </p><p>“So no one comes up here. Except the boy. And then, on one particular day, someone else started showing up. He hid in the shadows at first, not speaking or looking particularly hard. There wasn’t much that intrigued him-”</p><p>“I have to interject,” Neil mumbles, sated and sleep clumsy. Andrew’s eyes wander to him helplessly as he continues. “<em> You </em> intrigued me. That’s why I came up here in the first place.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Andrew mutters. Neil’s laughter floats into the quiet, a bandage over raw wound that unwraps Andrew each time he speaks. </p><p>The wind picks up around them, dismantling the quiet ease of the night and making him shiver despite himself. Neil catches on, laughter silencing into a hushed memory. Andrew adds that to the list of things to dislike about him - the way that Neil adapts so easily to his shifts in mood, observant of him just as much as his surroundings. </p><p>“So, there wasn’t <em> much </em> that intrigued him. He stuck to the shadows. The boy was wary of him, and kept extra close watch of his garden. And eventually, he crept out of the shadows and trampled all over the wire keeping things out.”</p><p>Neil’s mouth quirks up in a smile, and then just as he opens it - to give a snarky remark, no doubt - Andrew shushes him with a wave of his hand.</p><p>“And though the boy did his best to keep predators away from his garden, there was something strange about the visitor. He saw each living thing in it, and was careful to step around them before sitting in the garden. He saw the barbed wire and showed each thing that he had his own, wrapped around his body.</p><p>“It was magic,” Andrew admits quietly, staring down at his knees. “Everyone saw him, and though they’d been taught to be careful, to be wary, they looked past it.” </p><p>He’s not quite sure whether he’s talking about Neil or himself now. </p><p>“The boy was wary, despite all the garden things coming forward to see the new addition. So he packed up his garden again, and put it in his chest for safe keeping.” </p><p>The conclusion that he’d written eludes him, scratching desperately up his throat to keep from surfacing. He can’t decide whether to say it before Neil frowns, looking up at him confusedly.</p><p>“The end?” he asks, like he knows there’s more to it. Andrew hates that he <em> knows </em> , that when he doesn’t know, he <em> asks</em>. Leaving it up to him entirely.</p><p><em> He deserves the real end</em>, his brain coaxes. <em> He won’t run at the truth. </em></p><p>
  <em> He’s suffered a lot worse than you feeling something for him. </em>
</p><p>“No,” he manages, voice rough. Neil watches patiently, waiting. Always waiting, always patient. <em> What a fucking dream</em>.</p><p>“When the visitor saw that the garden was gone, he didn’t press. He sat with the boy, and talked. He was patient, and the boy was cautious of it, worried that he too would disappear under passing sunflowers, or refuse to grow. But… he stayed.”</p><p>Neil’s eyes are closed again, but the smile on his face gives Andrew the push to finish, despite the roughness in his throat. It helps that he’s not watching, maybe sensing that he wouldn’t be able to finish otherwise.</p><p>“He stayed and eventually, when the boy felt ready, he opened up his garden and lay it out again. But, the visitor took it in for a moment, and then climbed into the boy’s chest instead. And, there he is now. The fucking end, now go to bed.”</p><p>But he doesn’t move. The smile turns into a grin, and Andrew swallows down his fear in favor of looking away silently. </p><p>“Andrew,” Neil says, prompting him to look over. He avoids it for as long as possible, but Neil’s stare pins him flat and makes him feel more vulnerable. Eventually, it gets unbearable, and he has to look back at him to stop feeling watched.</p><p>“You’re staring,” he huffs, and Neil’s smile dissolves into something gentler, more teasing than joyful. </p><p>“Yeah,” he admits, then, “I liked it.”</p><p>Andrew huffs again, partly because hearing the confirmation makes him breathless, and because he can’t believe that Neil is real at all, holding his hand and listening to him. It’s something he never would have imagined unless it was from a dream, while he’s submerged in sleep and unable to change the pathways that his mind takes. </p><p>“It was for you, of course you did.”</p><p>It’s harder to look at him like this, while he’s baring vulnerabilities just to give him a piece of the truth. A fraction of the feelings that Andrew holds for him are pure anger, an inability to see why Neil would bother with it, despite the reassurances he’s offered. That same part of him hates eye contact, despising the way it draws him in and slows his breathing to something less tense. </p><p>He watches the stars instead, and infuriatingly, doesn’t even stiffen up when Neil sidles beside him, careful not to brush up against him. </p><p>“I liked it, because you’re a good story teller. And because it was a good story that kept my attention. You’re really good at what you’re studying.”</p><p>Andrew’s thoughts bubble up before he can force them down, and suddenly he’s speaking.</p><p>“If I write it out, will you illustrate it?” he blurts outs, taken aback by how badly he wants that. He’s noticed Neil sketching on various pieces of paper at practice, on scraps he pulls from his pockets at random. Sometimes, he brings a pen up to the roof and doodles flowers on Andrew’s arms, or his own hands.</p><p>He’s not the best artist in the world. But even if he were the worst, Andrew would still want him to try. </p><p><em> You’re the only person I’ve told this to</em>, he doesn’t say. <em> You’re the only reason I’m able to bear this much. </em></p><p>Even Neil looks shocked, but it clears quickly under confusion. “Do you want me to?”</p><p>Andrew can’t help his scowl. “If I ask you something,” he mutters, dropping his eyes to observe Neil more closely, “then it’s because I want it too.”</p><p>Neil mumbles, “Oh.” His eyes clear, as if that makes perfect sense. Andrew realizes with startling clarity that he’s never understood that, the possibility that he could make sense to somebody is as impossible as Neil himself. He supposes that makes sense as well. </p><p>“Okay. Yes. I want to. I’d love to.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Andrew mutters again, hope cresting in his chest like waves.</p><p>The impossibility of Neil is not intangible, like Andrew had expected. Not like being Cass’s kid, or having a steady relationship with his brother. Those things had required Andrew to push and pull, to rope a leash around and hold close despite the rope burn.</p><p>And instead of that, Neil had grabbed onto the other end, so desperate for someone to share with that he’d stumbled upon Andrew and just <em> fit</em>. Andrew didn’t have to clear his mess to make space for him, not like he’s had to before. </p><p><em> Impossible</em>, his mind supplies readily, so eager to tear down this sweet illusion. Neil blinks at him, lips curved upwards. Andrew certainly never imagined him smiling so much, not with the ferocity in his sharp face at other times.</p><p>“Yes or no?” he asks, to spite the ugly doubt in his head. Because Neil’s response is unwavering and honest, and nearly almost a yes. The story ends quite fittingly, he thinks, as Neil’s palm slides down to his chest. Right over the space reserved for him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you guys for reading to the end ! kudos and comments are appreciated, let me know all your thoughts !</p><p>i can be found on tumblr here: <a href="url">https://loveandwarandmagick.tumblr.com/</a></p><p>hit up my inbox with requests or anything y'all wanna see in the future &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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